


dirt and glitter cover the floor

by Butterfly



Series: go on as three [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, Podfic Available, contains no plot at all, it's a canon divergence but not an alternate timeline, it's a friendship thing and a sex thing, s1 au, there is some soft power exchange that is not negotiated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 16:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18876481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly
Summary: Quentin can be either a one-night stand or a long-term investment. She can't see any in-between, not with him.





	dirt and glitter cover the floor

**Author's Note:**

> Diverges from canon after 1x07 - Alice and Quentin hook up at Brakebills South but don't get into a relationship afterward. This story itself is set during the events right at the end of 1x11.
> 
> Fic title is a lyric from "Blow" by Kesha.
> 
> The series title is a lyric from "Triad" by Jefferson Airplane.

Margo wakes up in Eliot's bed, lying half on top of two boys. It's not completely unfamiliar; she and Eliot have shared before. This time, though, there wasn't any big seduction plan beforehand. Just her and Q hurting over Eliot hurting, wanting to do something to make each other feel better, then anything to make Eliot feel better. El's hand is resting on Quentin's hip and he doesn't look like he's in any pain. That helps, a little.

Her head aches so she does a quick tut to make the hangover drift away, extends the spell to Quentin and Eliot. Never let it be said that Margo Hanson was not a great fucking friend. A great friend to fuck. Whatever.

She wishes she remembers more of last night. All she has are flashes, really – talking to Q, his hand warm on her back, the two of them kissing and touching and _kissing_ until they rolled over into Eliot and woke him up. Q's a good kisser. A little messy, but trainable. Margo wrinkles her nose, considers the advantages and disadvantages of training him. It had taken them _weeks_ of soothing to settle him down properly after Quinn had cut him off cold after the Brakebills South trip. Margo prides herself on being high-maintenance, but Quentin was on his own level of neediness.

Still.

He'd gone down on his knees for her, pressed his eager, messy mouth against her cunt and licked her while Eliot had kissed her neck. He'd kissed them both afterwards, shameless with the taste of her on his lips. Climbed into El's lap while Eliot jerked them off. She thinks he might have blown El, too, but that part was hazier. What she _does_ remember makes it clear that the boy likes to use his mouth, just needs a little instruction on how to do it effectively.

Quentin can be either a one-night stand or a long-term investment. She can't see any in-between, not with him. Not if they didn't want to break him, and _that_ prospect wasn't appealing in the least. She shifts up, leans over Eliot's body to get a closer look at him. Eliot sighs, moves in his sleep. Doesn't wake up. Quentin, though... he tenses slightly at the movement of the bed. Margo's hair falls forward, brushing Eliot's arm, and she is absolutely certain now that Q is already awake and beginning the process of a tiny little freak-out. No more time to think it over; she has to decide now.

“So, you gonna give me a kiss or does morning breath scare you?” Margo asks. Quentin's chest freezes as he holds his breath, then he pries open a single eye, staring at her, his nerves almost making the air vibrate. “Well? Don't keep me waiting, Coldwater.” She braces herself on Eliot's body, leans down and-

Quentin pushes up, meets her with a closed-mouth kiss.

_Good_ boy.

She darts her tongue out to lick across his mouth when she pulls away. “That's better. I don't like waking up to fear, okay, little Q? You got an issue, fucking tell me. Don't lie there like you're thinking of England.”

Quentin laughs, and his eyes drop past her lips and down to her bare breasts before he forces them up again. “I can- uh. I can promise you I did not think of England at _any_ point last night.”

“No naughty Jane Chatwin fantasies for the Fillory fanboy?” she asks, pouting. He blushes and it's- it's adorable and- yeah. Last night isn't enough. Not by a mile. Not when she can barely remember it. “I could try putting on the accent.”

“Please don't,” he says, and he wraps his fingers in her hair and leans in for another kiss, still laughing. She kisses him until the morning sourness has all been kissed away, then kisses him a while longer, for good measure.

“You two are making a habit of starting without me.” Eliot sounds warm, though, and his hand creeps around her waist, slightly rough fingers on her skin. “Should I leave or...”

“Just making sure our boy doesn't have the wrong impression about last night, is all,” Margo says, and she cuts a look Eliot's way, _play along baby,_ and he smiles back up at her, bright and curious. Still a touch heartsick, even right after waking up, but intrigued. “Thought he might be worried it was a one-time gig.”

She can feel Quentin's gaze on the side of her face but she keeps herself focused on Eliot, who looks like he's thinking over the same equation that she was considering a couple of minutes ago. Eliot reaches up, cups her face in one of his big hands, his thumb tugging at her lower lip. Then he turns her back towards Quentin, who kisses her, kisses Eliot's hand at the same time. God, he's a fucking mess. So fucking messy.

They make out on top of Eliot, soft kisses and deep ones and teasing ones where she makes Q reach for her, and El's hands go exploring – tweaking a nipple, rubbing over her belly. He's touching Quentin, too, because Q makes these soft little noises into her mouth every time El does something to surprise him. Margo needs one hand to steady herself against Eliot's hip, but she slides the other into Quentin's hair, tugging it until he moans. Smart boy, he doesn't try to do the same to her, and his hands stay gentle, respectful. She pulls away from his mouth, licks at his jawline, noses down his throat to nip lightly at the base of his neck.

“Hey, baby Q, did you give El a BJ last night? I can't remember,” she asks him, tip-toeing her fingers down his spine to grab at the curve of his ass. “It gets kinda fuzzy for me around there.”

“He did,” Eliot confirms. “Swallowed it all down.”

“Oh, but you are a good boy,” she tells Q and he- he shivers a little. He is absolute fucking putty in her hands, ready to go wherever she shapes him. It's not always her thing, but seeing it in _Quentin_ \- yeah. It works for her. “Has anyone taught you any sex magic yet, honey?”

“Um- not. Not really.” He's blushing again, all the way down his chest. She shares a secret look with Eliot, then grabs Quentin's hands with both of hers while Eliot reaches up to steady the two of them in place. She slides Q's hands up to grab at her tits, puts his thumbs right over her nipples. He can't seem to decide whether he wants to look at her breasts or her face.

“This one is simple. It's contraceptive and protective magic, because condoms are muggle bullshit,” she says. “You gotta touch the person you're- hmm, protecting, just like you're doing right now.” She takes her own hands away, leaving his in place. “Okay, watch my hands and listen close.” The tuts are easy, but Quentin studies them like he already knows she's gonna give a test later. The rest is just a single sentence in Gaelic, and Quentin mouths it to himself after she says it. The magic shimmers in the air, then releases without taking purchase. “So, press your thumbs against my nipples, yeah, like that. Hold like that for five seconds.” She sways a little from the sweet pressure and when Quentin sends her an anxious glance and pulls his hands away at her nod, her nipples stand out dark and hard. Quentin licks his lips and she thinks about indulging him but. No, not now. This is a teaching moment.

“Put your right hand between my legs, find my clit-” Margo gives him a moment, his fingers slipping against her, before she reaches down and steadies his hand herself. “-Okay, press, just like- yeah, that's-” Magicians almost always have nice hands, it kinda comes with the territory, but Quentin's are... _lovely_. “Five- five seconds there, too.” Her hips want to push against his fingers, but she keeps herself still.

“Now take your hands off and do the spell, like I showed you.” Quentin pulls away and goes through the tuts, says words loud and clear. This time, the magic spills out from his hands and goes into her, zinging pleasantly through her body. “Mmm. Feels good, too. That's a nice little bonus. And now you can fuck me without getting all worried and fretful.”

“I'm not- I wasn't-” He gives her an exasperated look.

“You would have been, though,” Eliot chimes in, rubbing a hand down Quentin's body and wrapping his fingers around Q's cock. “Is that something you want, little Q? You wanna fuck Bambi?”

“Yeah,” Quentin says, like it's obvious, as it should be. Eliot grins up at him, twists his hand and makes Quentin gasp. “I mean- yeah. Yeah.” He topples towards Eliot until Margo presses her hand against his chest, holds him up. “I have _never_ had friends like you before.” Soft, like he's not sure he wants them to hear.

“We are the gold star of friendship,” Margo agrees. She kisses him on the forehead. “Now, sweet Q, I want you to fuck me while you blow El. Think you're up to it?” His face is a little panicked, but determined. She leans down and pecks El on the shoulder. “I'm thinking edge of the bed, me in Q's lap and you standing. Work for you?”

Eliot licks his lips, tugs on Quentin's cock, thumbs the head. “Yeah. That works.”

They pull Quentin to the edge of the bed, spread his legs out wide so that he has to support himself on his toes, then Margo climbs into his lap and kisses him wet and dirty. She teases him for a while, rubs his cock against her, doesn't let it go inside. Finally, when she feels ready, she takes his dick in hand and slides down, swallowing his moans. She doesn't remember if they bothered putting up silencing wards last night, but considering how drunk they'd been on wine and emotion... probably not. Quentin tries to hold himself up on the bed, hands slipping on the sheets, but then there's Eliot next to them, and he does a quick spell to give a bit of invisible bracing behind Q's back.

“You'll want your hands,” Eliot says and he pulls Quentin out of the kiss, turning him towards his dick. Q goes for it like he's starving and it makes Margo laugh, but she buries the sound against Quentin's shoulder, not wanting to embarrass him. Let him be hungry for it. For all of it. Margo balances herself on her knees and rises up, stays like that for a good while. She can feel Quentin's hips twitching upward, but he's got no leverage to work with, so he doesn't get very far. She bites at his neck and tugs on his hair and listens to the slick eager sounds of Quentin choking himself on El's cock.

“Once we get all this Fillory bullshit figured out, we should think about moving you into El's room,” she says, casually, like they were just sitting around shooting the shit in the common room downstairs. “You look good in here and your own room is a little depressing. You're like a- I don't know. A flower. You need more sunlight.”

She takes in a breath and then exhales as she shimmies back down Quentin's dick. His heart is beating like crazy under her palm. She thinks about her idea more, because- yeah, Q in her room would be awful. She needs her private time. But El... _El_ having Quentin here every morning... he would blossom under that, she's sure of it, having Quentin there to coddle and pet. It would be good for Quentin, too, make him feel like he's never alone. And easy access for her, whenever she wanted to spend time with her... her boys.

She rides Q slowly, luxuriously. He's using one of his hands on El, but the other one rests on her hip, fingers tightening occasionally but otherwise undemanding. His dick is average, maybe a little smaller than average, but it feels nice like this, when she's in no hurry. She considers whether or not he's the kind of guy to get off on a woman teasing him about his size but... no, she's pretty sure it would just make him anxious in a bad way, and that's not what she wants at all. She lets her eyes slide closed as she moves, presses her mouth against Quentin's shoulder, breathing against his skin. There's the rumble of a sound building in Quentin's throat, but it never makes it out, trapped inside by Eliot's cock. She can smell Eliot, this close, that lovely expensive scent of his that lingers, even after a night like last night. If Q moves in here, he'll end up smelling like Eliot, too, just from proximity.

There's a soft low groan from Eliot, and she can feel Quentin swallowing, and he pants loudly afterwards, slumping back onto the transparent cushion Eliot had created for him. She puts her hands on Q's shoulders, looks over at El – he's gone down to his knees, reaching out to thumb open Quentin's slack mouth and press inside with his fingers. Quentin's eyes are only half-open, but his lips close tight around El's hand, suckling as El continues to fuck his mouth with his fingers. Margo gentles further, just barely rocking with her hips, and reaches out with one hand to touch Eliot's cheek. He blinks, looks away from Q, and gives her a stunned smile that makes her feel warm all over.

“Feeling satisfied, El?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “Q's cocksucking up to par?”

It's- maybe it's a challenge. Maybe it's a test. She can feel how the question itself makes Quentin tense underneath her. She hopes Eliot understands what she's really asking.

Eliot pulls his fingers out of Quentin's mouth, rests them on his chin. Quentin breathes loudly, mouth open, chest heaving, pulse going a mile a minute. She wonders, heart in throat, if she just pushed Eliot too hard. If it was still too soon after... after what had happened with Mike.

“Good for a beginner,” Eliot says, the words coming out sharp, almost clinical. His hand moves up slightly, close enough to Quentin's mouth that he can- and, _yeah_ , Quentin lunges forward, presses his desperate sloppy mouth against Eliot's fingers. She wonders if Q even remembers the rest of his body exists right now, or if the only thing that matters is Eliot's touch, Eliot's judgement. “I think, after some more experience, he could be... spectacular.” As Eliot speaks, his tone warms, and he puts his other hand into Q's hair, brings him closer, and Q kisses his fingers like El is fucking royalty. Still, she can't help her relieved little breath.

“What a funny coincidence.” Margo lifts her hands, does a tut to make the support behind Q's back vanish. He collapses back onto the bed, perplexed. Off balance. A good look for him, really. “I was thinking that exact thing.” She braces herself on El's shoulder and pulls off Quentin's dick, leaving it to bounce wet and hard, press up against his belly. “Q, honey, move yourself back on the bed. Yeah, just like that.”

Quentin moves as directed, awkward elbows and flailing feet, and ends up in a tangled heap in the middle of the bed, looking all kinds of bewildered. There's a moment or two, where it looks like he's maybe going to ask her to clarify what precisely her plan is, but then he settles again, rests and waits for her to talk.

Margo climbs onto the bed, prowling on hands and knees towards Quentin, who blinks at her, very accurately, if unknowingly, playing the prey to her predator. She licks his knee and his forehead lines with confusion. She kisses his inner thigh and his legs part as if on command. She pushes his legs further apart, as far as he'll let her. He lets her go pretty far, only resisting once it's obvious it's starting to ache a little. She ignores his dick, nips at the curve of his belly right next to it. She rises up again, arching backward to show off her breasts, watching where his gaze lingers – he likes her tits, yeah, but he also stares at the curve of her waist, at her damp cunt, at the fall of her hair on her shoulders, and at her face, when he gets up the courage to look her in the eyes.

“So, Coldwater. Eliot and I have this whole friendship thing where we sometimes fuck the same person and it's, you know. Fun.” Margo tosses her hair, but Quentin's eyes don't move to follow this time. He's locked in to her words now. Good. “But you don't really operate like that.” She holds up a hand. “You don't need to- like, protest and shit to try to play at being one of the cool kids. You aren't. That's part of why we like you. We _like_ that you're a high-strung nerd, honey.”

“Oh,” Quentin says. And that appears to be the extent of what he can offer the conversation right now. That's fine. She'll get him there. She can feel Eliot behind her now, slinging his arm around her waist, making them present as a matched set. Yes, he _had_ understood what she was really asking earlier.

“This can just be sex.” Margo leans down and presses a soft kiss against the swollen head of his dick, tasting mostly herself. “If that's what you want.”

And Eliot – brilliant Eliot – is already following her lead, stretching himself out on the bed next to Quentin, touching his chin with a gentle hand. “Or it can be more.” Eliot punctuates his words with a kiss, one that Quentin immediately arches off the bed to deepen. Eliot breaks the kiss, reluctantly. “If you want. You don't have to answer now. Just think about it.”

“Are you-” Quentin's voice breaks. He slumps back on the bed, eyes closed. Margo shares a nervous glance with Eliot, but stays quiet. Lets Q process. “Um. This can't be real, right? Things like this don't- don't happen in real life. I'm having-um. An incredibly vivid sex dream.” Margo rests her chin on Q's hip, waits as patiently as she can. Eliot strokes through Q's hair. “I mean, if I am having a dream, I should just go with it, right? What's the point of- of- of getting myself all worked up in my own dream? At least Penny's not here.” At that, Quentin opens his eyes and looks around the room wildly. For evidence of Penny Adiyodi, presumably.

“You have a lot of sex dreams about Penny?” Eliot asks, fondly. “Because, I mean, if you're interested, we could ask him to join us for a one-off, but I don't think you're his type.”

“No, I don't- um. Maybe a few. That's not the point.”

Margo isn't sure if Quentin himself even knows what the point is anymore. Still, for all his outward panic, his dick isn't getting any softer. She runs the edge of her fingernail from the base to the tip, and Quentin gasps.

“That- um. That doesn't make it any easier to think,” he says, repressively. But he doesn't reach down to stop her.

“I _was_ gonna wait until afterwards to ask all this, but I was afraid you might fall asleep again,” Margo says. “We'll have to work on your post-orgasm stamina, puppy, if you decide you want to try this out. Aftercare is a real thing.” Quentin's brow furrows and he mouths the word 'puppy' a little incredulously. Eh, she'll try it on him again later, see what his reaction is. “But now you know the offer's out there, so if you want, I could suck your dick. Or El could. Or you can fuck me some more.” That is, from Q's blank expression, far too many options for him to deal with right now, so she says, cheerfully, “Okay, sixty-nine it is,” and presses a kiss to Q's hip as she sits up. She pats Q's stomach right above his dick, to remind him to stay still, and Eliot helps her climb over Quentin so that she's straddling his face.

Q's hands reach up and hold the backs of her thighs and that's- that's good. She lowers herself down on her elbows and Quentin's mouth is on her before she expects it – he's pushing himself up off the bed so that he can reach her. Eager, messy boy. His mouth is just as needy and hot as she remembers from last night and she lets herself bask in the feeling for a while, rolling her hips against his face. It's rougher than it was last night, the stubble burning against her skin, a touch of pain but not enough to distract from his tongue. She looks down at his dick, and she wonders, distantly, how long he would spend eating her out before daring to ask if she was ever gonna actually get around to blowing him. Her hair has fallen around her face, a curtain to keep out the rest of the room. She presses a kiss against the base of his cock and his hips jerk up, just once. His mouth is desperate on her, almost frantic, but here he's trembling to keep himself still. She nips the tender skin of his inner thigh, thinks about taking a razor to the hair down here, making him bare and sweet everywhere from his chest to his legs.

She breathes against his dick and it twitches for her. She licks a line from the head to the base, and he pauses to whimper against her cunt, tongue pressed inside her, before he starts moving again. His face must be covered with her already, and that thought makes her throb against him. Jesus, she should tell him- tell him not to wash anything afterwards, make him go to class- go to class with his face still-

Margo shivers, hard, her thighs tightening around Quentin's head as she comes.

She's not sure whether or not he can tell that she orgasmed, because he doesn't stop licking, doesn't stop sucking. His face must be such a mess. She kisses his cock again, thankful. Nudges herself far enough back to take the head inside her mouth, sucks delicately. Carefully. No mess here, no desperation. She's so fucking sensitive where Quentin's mouth is still working at her cunt that her hips jerk involuntarily with every swipe of his tongue, but she doesn't want him to stop. Not yet. Gentle, gentle as she slowly feels herself tip from oversensitive back into being on the edge again.

She wonders if El is watching. He must be. She hopes he's still having fun. She's- she's definitely having fun. She stops sucking for a while, just holds Quentin's dick in her mouth. He whines against her and she can feel the aching tension in his stomach and thighs as he tries so very very hard to be good and let her do what she wants with him. A single light suck, one lap of her tongue over the very tip of his dick. After she shaves him – if he lets her shave him – she'll see if she can sweet talk him into wearing something pretty for her. Stockings and a corset, maybe. She could put lipstick on his lovely mouth, line his eyes with something dark, but make sure he keeps the stubble, too. Her hips buck against his mouth and she can feel him moan. Her poor, desperate, messy boy. She presses one last kiss to his dick and pulls away, pushes up off the bed and rides Q's face until she comes a second time.

Q keeps trying to lick into her, but she has to lift up, away from his mouth, thighs shaky. Eliot is still there, lying next to them, watching. She reaches for him, and he helps her shift away from Quentin, who lies there panting open-mouthed, his face fucking- fucking _soaked_ in her, just like she'd been imagining. She pats Eliot on the chest and collapses next to Quentin, touching his face lightly, feeling just how wet it is. She glances down and Quentin's hips are trembling against the urge to thrust up into nothing, his dick so violently hard that she swears she can see his pulse beating in it. She looks at Eliot again, silently offering to pass the baton.

“So, what do you think, Bambi?” Eliot asks, reaching out and trailing his hand down Quentin's chest and belly, stopping before he reached Q's cock. “Coldwater can't improve if you don't give him feedback.”

“Mmm, can't fault his enthusiasm,” Margo says, striving to match the clinical tone that Eliot had managed earlier, but a bit too out of breath and blissed out to manage it properly. “Ten outta ten for that.”

“And what about technique?” Eliot's fingers hover right above Quentin's dick, just barely not touching. “How'd he do in the technical?”

“He's messy,” she says. “Sloppy. I mean, look at his face.” And Quentin's fucking vibrating underneath them now, like he'll self-destruct from mortification if he didn't make her happy enough. She rubs her fingers against his cheek, slippery, and then touches them to his mouth and, fuck, he just opens up for her and lets her right in. “Gotta take some points off for that. We'll give him seven out of ten.”

“Sounds like he got a passing score,” Eliot says, taking Quentin's cock in hand and giving it a few desultory pumps that make Quentin whine against her fingers. “Would the esteemed judge agree with that assessment?”

“Yeah, he did good.” Margo pulls her fingers out of Q's mouth and pats him on the cheek, like a favorite pet and- _yeah_ , that does it and Quentin goes off like a fucking rocket, spraying his chest and stomach with lines of his own spunk.

He seems dazed afterwards and she doesn't blame him. They kept him on the edge a good long while, especially for his first time playing this kind of game. Eliot gets up from the bed and heads in the direction of the bathroom while Margo strokes Q soothingly and tells him how very very pleased she is with him. El comes back with a wet washcloth and he wipes off Quentin's body and – to Margo's mild regret – his face, too.

Eliot holds Q's hand, presses a kiss to his palm. “How are you feeling?”

“I don't even fucking know.” Quentin laughs, like he can't help it. “ _Christ_. That was- that was- is all the sex you have like that? It's intense as fuck. I thought I was gonna explode or something.”

“It's not usually like that,” Margo says, cuddling up against Q's side, just like she'd been last night, before he'd kissed her the first time. “But maybe... if you decide you want to-”

“I'm not an idiot,” Q says. “ _Of course_ , I want to.”

Margo beams at him, and then at Eliot, who is radiating a quiet contentment that is so much better than the poorly-disguised misery he's been carrying around the last couple of weeks. Well, yes. Of course.

She always does have the best ideas.

 

**Author's Note:**

> aka "Margo accidentally starts a romantic triad because this is, somehow, still easier than actually talking to her best friend about his recent emotional trauma."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] dirt and glitter cover the floor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20741027) by [exmanhater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmanhater/pseuds/exmanhater)




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